


Spiraling Closer

by katie_elizabeth



Series: Filling in the Blanks [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski, Witcher - Fandom
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22177447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katie_elizabeth/pseuds/katie_elizabeth
Summary: After Jaskier recovers from the djinn attack, Geralt reflects on Yen's "just a friend" question.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Filling in the Blanks [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596382
Comments: 17
Kudos: 789





	Spiraling Closer

**Author's Note:**

> This is a stand-alone prologue to "The Long Walk"!

The copse of trees where they've set up camp is quiet save for the sleepy chirping of crickets and the crackle of their fire. Jaskier's throat still feels as if it's full of gravel. Across the clearing, partially concealed by their tent, Geralt is shirtless, bathing in the small stream that trickles past. Jaskier can't help but sneak a glance now and then, admiring his broad shoulders and the way his many scars reflect silver in the moonlight. If it were any man other than Geralt, Jaskier would go over and test the metaphorical waters--but Geralt is inscrutable, untouchable. Not to mention, he could certainly murder him with a single hand. Women that reject his advances usually do so with nothing more venomous than a derisive look, but men have historically been far more prone to attempt to punch his face in.

Jaskier didn't realize how truly infatuated he was with Geralt until Geralt walked out of that house yesterday, blessedly whole and unharmed. It didn't matter that he had risked his life, that he had fucked Yennefer--the ballad recounting the tragic, selfless death of the White Wolf would go unwritten, and that was enough for Jaskier. And Geralt had saved his life, had waited by his bedside--had cared for him after all.

Geralt returns to the campfire a few minutes later, still shirtless, resting his boots against the perimeter of the pit. His eyes are liquid gold in the firelight. "Wanted to apologize for the mess with the djinn. Should've known pulling the cork gave me the wishes." He's quiet for a minute, staring into the flames. "And I wasn't serious about the pie comment."

"I know Geralt," Jaskier grins, patting him on the back. "And anyway, it was almost worth it to be slung over your exquisitely strong shoulders like a sack of flour." His teasing smile falters as Geralt continues gazing into the fire, silent. "Geralt? It's okay, really. It wasn't your fault. I'm the one who decided to build my career around following the most dangerous man I could find, after all."

More silence. Finally, Geralt grunts and spreads his pelt out on the ground before lying back to gaze up at the stars. Trying his best not to second-guess himself, Jaskier scoots over to lie next to him, propping his head up in his hand. "Your dark brooding is charming and all, Geralt, but I could really use a hint. Are you angry with me? With Yennefer? Or, uhhh, I don't know, constipated or something? Or--"

Geralt heaves a deep sigh, lips pressed tightly together. "Yennefer asked me if you were a friend and I… didn't know how to answer her."

"Again with the friend thing? We've spent most of the last three months together and you've saved my life going on a dozen times, so if that doesn't meet the criteria for friends then I don't--"

Geralt rolls over and stares at him, cat eyes glowing amber in the firelight, until Jaskier understands, until his mouth drops open in surprise.

"Oh. _Oh!_ Do you mean--? No, you don't-- That… Sorry, I uh-- What were we talking about? I'll just go get us some, um, firewood--"

A strong grip on Jaskier's bicep keeps him from rising. He finally meets Geralt's gaze, heart thundering--his eyes are steady, but Jaskier swears he can detect a hint of anxiety half-buried in their depths. "Do you understand what… I'm trying to get at here, Jaskier?"

"Do _you_ understand what you're trying to get at?" Jaskier shoots back, mouth open, astonished. "Are you sure what I think you're saying is the same thing that you think you're saying, because if the two are not the same this is going to be very awk--" Geralt's face is suddenly very close, blotting out the moon. "V-very… awkward."

"Your voice might be lovely, but you do use it too much," Geralt murmurs. Jaskier only regards him through his eyelashes, perplexed, until Geralt finally sighs in defeat and presses their mouths together. He tastes like woodsmoke and ale, and Jaskier forgets what kissing is for a few moments before his brain catches up, before he leans into it with a startled gasp.

"Can't you just do that the next time you want some peace and quiet?" Jaskier wheezes, coming up for air maybe seconds, maybe hours later, his cheeks stained red.

"Whatever works," Geralt shrugs, and Jaskier swears there's a hint of a smile--an actual smile--playing around the corner of his lips.

"You know, I never pegged you as a man that would stray beyond the standard maidens," Jaskier rambles, hoping the chatter will somehow keep his body from shaking apart beneath the lips making their way down his neck. "I must admit I followed you that first day as much for your rugged countenance as your potential as a muse, but--"

"You're talking again," Geralt growls, pushing him back into the grass and caging him in with the bulk of his biceps. Jaskier is suddenly aware of an insistent stirring in his undercarriage.

"Geralt, ah… There's a rock… in my spine," Jaskier gasps between kisses, laughing now, tangling his fingers in Geralt's hair just the way he's imagined doing so for months. The rock is out from under him and exploding against a tree trunk ten feet away before he even knows what has happened, before he can even comprehend that Geralt has thrown it. That's enough to send him into another giddy, uncontrollable fit of laughter, punctuated by moaning urgent kisses.

"What's so funny? Got a problem?" Geralt inquires, receiving no answer. If Jaskier ever had problems, he's quite forgotten them.

-

Jaskier awakens the next morning with his cheek pressed flat against Geralt's bare chest, half of his discarded clothes stomped into the dirt near Roach's tether. Geralt is in a similar state of disarray, still asleep, silver hair tinted gold by the early morning sunlight. They never made it to the tent last night and the morning breeze is brisk, so Jaskier retrieves his journal and quill and pulls the pelt over them both.

Geralt cracks an eye open and sighs. "I hope you're not putting this into a song right now."

"Ah, I'll change the pronouns," Jaskier smiles, waving his quill in Geralt's general direction. "Don't you worry about that."


End file.
